Personality Crisis (Episode 02 - Alternate Season 9)
by Bohemia86
Summary: Castiel discovers that this humanity thing is a bit more difficult than he'd realised, particularly when Dean and Sam's methods of helping have varying degrees of success. Meanwhile Crowley is also adjusting to life post-Sacrifice, but does he know more about Metatron's plans than he's letting on? SPOILERS TO THE END OF SEASON 8


_Hello there! Okay, here is the second 'episode' of my alternate season 9. Please let me know what you think. The next installment should be posted on Wednesday. Please take a minute to review if you can - I'd appreciate it greatly._

* * *

_Belle Fourche, South Dakota_

"God, it's hot," Ryan grumbled, rubbing a hand through his hair. He grimaced when his fingers came away damp and looked over to where his friend was leaning into the hood of the old Chevy. "Frank, can we hurry this shit up please? It's hotter than hell out here."

Frank looked up with a frown. "It's not my fault your car's a piece of junk."

"Hey," Ryan threw his hands up in as he took offence to that statement, "don't talk about her like that. I love this car, man."

"Yeah," Frank replied with a sigh, "which is why _I'm_ the one fixing her again while you stand there complaining about it."

Ryan rolled his eyes but remained silent as he turned away and squinted into the distance. If he was honest, buying the car with his eighteenth birthday money hadn't been quite the boon he'd expected. Sure, it meant he could pick Alice up for dates, and bail out of AP Chem with Frank every once in a while, but if it wasn't for his friend's knowledge of cars Ryan would've already spent the same amount again just getting the damn thing repaired.

Today's incident – the result of overly-ambitious use of the gas pedal – had seen the car sputtering to a stop about twenty miles north of the city. The sweltering afternoon heat, unseasonable for this time of year, now had Ryan actually wishing for the AC-cooled hallways of school.

"Hey!"

Frank's shout of surprise had Ryan whirling around instantly. His eyes widened as he saw Frank being restrained by a tall, blond man.

"Who are you?" Ryan asked, striding towards the new arrival, emboldened at the terrified look on his friend's face so at odds with his normally unflappable demeanour. "Let him go. We haven't got any money and the car's a piece of junk."

"Oh, I just _knew _you were a feisty one." A new voice entered the 'conversation', startling Ryan into turning again. A man in a cardigan was standing behind him; not looking remotely warm even as Ryan felt another trickle of sweat begin its uncomfortable track down his neck and below his shirt.

"We haven't got anything worth stealing," Ryan said to the newcomer, his stomach tightening as the man regarded him with small shifty eyes that reminded the teenager of the excuse for a gerbil his younger sister had once called a pet. "Look, man, the car won't even start."

"We don't want your car, Ryan," the man replied with a pitying smile. "Or your money." The man stepped forwards, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. "We don't even want to kill your friend."

It was as if every drop of sweat on Ryan's skin was suddenly frozen, leaving him shivering as he took in the twisted smile on the man's face. "Wh-what do you want? How the hell do you know my name?" He tried to keep his voice steady, but each syllable shook harder than the last. Ryan was clever, and usually very good at talking himself out of trouble (just as Mrs Baker about the French homework debacle of '09), but fear for Frank, and fear for himself was making it too difficult to think about anything beyond _just give these guys what they want and they'll go away_.

"That's the attitude I'm looking for," the man in the cardigan said, his lips curling upwards as he continued to stare at Ryan. "What I _want_, Ryan_, _is to restore the balance. Restore the order we've all been missing without even realising it was gone."

Ryan frowned, his eyes darting to where Frank was silently pleading with him for help. "I don't understand."

"I'm an angel," the man announced, completely straight-faced.

Ryan almost laughed, only a considerable desire to maintain his existence keeping the chuckle in. This guy was clearly crazy and it probably wouldn't be a good idea to piss off the religious nut when his accomplice had Frank's hands pinned behind his back. The blond guy looked like he could snap a man in half, and Ryan wasn't convinced he wouldn't resort to it if pushed.

"You don't believe me." The 'angel' shook his head sadly as he spoke. "You know, there was a time when people were thrilled to see an angel; scared, yes, but ultimately they were pleased to have been chosen to receive a message."

"You want to give me a message?" Ryan asked carefully, already deciding that he'd agree to pass on the word of this 'angel' as long as it meant he and Frank could get out of there as quickly as possible.

"No," the 'angel' shook his head again. "I want your friend over there to pass on a message. You, Ryan, I need you for something else."

Ryan swallowed loudly, a million awful thoughts racing through his mind, each one far worse than the one it followed.

The 'angel' looked down at himself. "This one suited me when I was a scribe; he was a librarian from Queens – he faded into the background easily, never really drawing attention to himself. But it's not really working for me anymore. What do _you_ think?"

Ryan didn't know what to think. He opened his mouth to reply, closing it almost immediately when he realised he had no idea what the man was talking about.

"I think you're a bit more two-thousand-thirteen," the 'angel' pointed at Ryan as he took a step closer. "I need you to invite me in, Ryan. I need you to be my vessel for a while."

Ryan paled, stumbling backwards in horror. "I don't know what you mean. Look, we didn't do anything to you or your friend, so just leave us alone. _Please_." He wasn't above begging, not now, not when he thought this might be _it_.

The 'angel' rolled his eyes. "I just need to borrow your body for a while, Ryan," he said. "You won't even notice. All you have to do is say yes and I'll let your friend go."

"You're crazy!" Ryan spat before he could stop himself. "Borrow my body? What the fuck?" He was breathing hard, clutching at his chest as fear threatened to engulf him.

The 'angel' laughed. "No, I'm not crazy, Ryan. I promise you will not be harmed if you say yes."

"I'm not agreeing to anything," Ryan replied, his voice shaking, looking to Frank with wild eyes. "Just let us go."

"Tamriel." The 'angel' nodded at the blond man who tightened his grip on Frank's arms. Frank howled in pain.

"Leave him alone!" Ryan cried, his fists balling uselessly at his sides. "Just let us go."

"All you have to do is say yes, Ryan," the man replied, completely unaffected as Frank's shouts rose in volume. "Agree to act as my vessel and I won't kill your friend."

Ryan stared terrified at the man in front of him. He should just say yes, shouldn't he? Agree to whatever this guy wants and then try and make a run for it with Frank?

Frank howled, and Ryan yelled, "Fine! Okay, fine, just let him go now."

The 'angel' smiled and nodded once more to the man he'd called Tamriel. Frank collapsed to his knees with a soft wail of pain.

"This might hurt a bit," the 'angel' advanced towards Ryan, arm outstretched.

Ryan fought the instinct to duck as the man's fingers were a hair's breadth from his forehead. White light exploded in his vision and he felt himself being turned inside out. An awful sensation of compression permeated every cell and the pain was too great to even cry out for help.

Then nothing.

Ryan's eyes dropped to the dusty ground, where the still body of a man in a cardigan now lay.

"Metatron?" Tamriel asked carefully.

Metatron forced a smile onto Ryan's face. "It's Ryan when we're in public," he replied. He turned his face to look at Frank. The teenager was staring up at him in open-mouthed shock. Metatron walked towards him and dropped onto his haunches. "I have a message for you, Frank. A very important message that you need to promise to pass on."

Frank didn't move, didn't speak, and barely even breathed.

"Tell everyone what happened here today," Metatron replied. "Tell them you have heard the word of God and that you have been blessed by an angel. Tell them that the clock is ticking, and unless the Gates of Hell are sealed, the wrath of God will fall upon those who have disobeyed his Word; The sacrifice must be completed." He pressed two fingers to Frank's forehead and the teenager felt every ache leave him immediately.

Metatron stood and patted the car, the engine roaring to life upon contact. He ran a hand through the unfamiliar dark waves and looked down at Frank. "Tell them Metatron has spoken."

Frank shielded his eyes are the air around him seemed to glow. His eyes snapped open when he heard the rustle of wings, mouth dropping open as he realised that Ryan and the blond man had disappeared. The man in the cardigan – the one who'd claimed to be an angel – was lying still as death in the dust.

Frank slowly climbed to his feet and leaned into the car to grab his phone. With shaking fingers he dialled nine-one-one and held the handset to his ear

_"911. What's the address of the emergency?"_

* * *

"Hello Dean."

Dean jumped a foot in the air, elbow knocking the skillet hard enough to almost send it and the almost-cooked bacon it contained crashing to the floor. He turned to face Cas, who was hunched slightly in the doorway.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean rubbed a hand over his chest, "you haven't lost the freaky, stalkerish walk, have you? Give a guy some warning."

Cas frowned, tilting his head slightly. "I thought my greeting would have b-"

"It's fine, Cas. It's fine," Dean waved his hand. He paused, hand still in the air when he looked more closely at the other man (and God knows Dean was still getting used to that– _man_, not _angel_). He wiggled his fingers in the direction of Cas's face. "What the hell happened to you?"

Cas just tilted his head a bit more and raised a hand to his face. "Oh," he said slightly sheepishly as his fingertips brushed one of the small nicks on his jawline. "It appears I lack the coordination required for this task."

Dean chuckled slightly. "What'd you use? A lawn mower?"

Cas scrunched his face into an expression that suggested he was utterly baffled by the words spilling from Dean's mouth.

"I'm kidding, Cas," Dean replied with a small sigh.

"Oh," Cas repeated quietly as Dean turned away again.

Dean really hated awkward silences, which was a total shame considering his inherent ability to create them.

Cas shifted slightly after a long moment. "Sam suggested I just grow a beard," he said as Dean started piling bacon onto a plate.

"No!" Dean barked before he could check himself. He spun around to stare wide eyed at Cas in horror.

Cas blinked, taken aback by the vehement reaction. "Why not?"

_Because it would remind me of purgatory,_ Dean wanted to say. _Because it reminds me of a 2014 that isn't supposed to happen, but feels a step closer now anyway._ But he couldn't, he _wouldn't _say any of that.

"Because-" Dean started eventually. "Because you wouldn't want to hide that pretty face under peach fuzz now, would you? You freak chicks out enough as it is." He laughed, but it was a strange, hollow sound that ended almost as soon as it escaped his lips. He coughed awkwardly and picked up the plate of bacon, followed by another piled high with pancakes. "Come on, I'm going to counteract that healthy crap Sam gave you yesterday with a _real_ breakfast. Grab those plates and bring them through"

"I liked the oatmeal," Cas replied, looking almost apologetic as he sat knives and forks on top of the three plates Dean had directed him to.

"Of course you did," Dean muttered as he followed Cas out of the kitchen to join Sam at the table. His brother was looking a hell of a lot better than he had two days earlier when they'd first arrived back at the Bunker.

"Hey," Sam nodded as he took one of the plates and set it in the middle of the table. He wrinkled his nose slightly at the stack of bacon. "Seriously, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "It's for Cas."

"I was happy with oatmeal," Cas piped up as he sat down.

Dean glared. "Yeah, well that's because you haven't had this yet."

Sam rolled his eyes and sat down again, his solitary handcuff clanking against the table as he did so.

Dean clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together in anticipation as he picked up the maple syrup and added a generous drizzle to his food. (Dean would call this a 'generous drizzle', Sam would argue it was closer to a 'deluge'.)

Cas hesitantly poured a tiny amount of syrup onto the edge of his plate when Dean slid the bottle towards him. He stuck the tip of his finger into the liquid and raised it to his lips, halting an inch away with a wrinkle of his nose. He stared speculatively at his hand for a few seconds.

Dean watched the process in rapt fascination, a forkful of bacon paused halfway to his mouth.

Sam shook his head at his brother again and reached for two pancakes, completely ignoring the bacon.

"Well?" Dean asked, nodding his head at Cas.

Cas, with the look of a man about to be sent to the gallows, gingerly licked the syrup from his finger. The reaction was instantaneous; he stuck his tongue out in disgust, his eyes clamping shut as he winced. "Dean, why would you willingly put such a substance in your mouth?"

Dean arched his eyebrow at the look of concern on Cas' face. "Well I guess there's no accounting for taste." He shook his head and continued stabbing his food with his fork. "Sam can make you breakfast in future."

Cas, looking bereft, immediately set to work on demolishing his bacon and pancakes, barely swallowing a mouthful before moving onto the next.

"Cas!" Sam grasped the other's man arm, quickly shooting his brother a bitchface. "If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it, alright?"

"It is only the _syrup_ I find abhorrent," Cas replied, slowing down slightly. "The rest is to my liking."

Dean looked triumphant and Sam was forced to increase the bitchface to near bone-melting levels.

"Still," Sam added carefully, "if you don't like something you don't have to say you do just because _some_ people might try to inflict their tastes on you."

"_Inflict_?" Dean barked around a mouthful of everything.

Cas, sensing the potential for a Winchester vs. Winchester moment that was unlikely to end well as Dean hadn't yet consumed his required amount of breakfast, spoke up. "Where's Kevin this morning?"

Sam took a chance to reply while Dean was trying to swallow half a pancake by the looks of things. "He's catching up on all the sleep he missed when he was translating the tablets; it's not going to be as bad this time but it's still going to take a lot out of him to work on the Angel tablet."

Castiel frowned. "What benefit will that have now? Metatron's sealed the Gates of Heaven, and the angels are walking the earth." His frown deepened. "Well, when they are _old _enough to walk the earth they will."

"Baby angels," Dean shook his head, all prior conflict with Sam swept away. "I don't know what we would've done if you'd turned up as a baby."

"I believe the situation would have had potential for much comedic effect," Cas replied, completely deadpan and so like the Cas they'd first encountered that it actually made Dean ache a little at the thought of how much had changed.

"Dude," Dean wrinkled his nose to cover up any trace of sentiment that might be showing, "I don't even want to think about what that would have meant. Sam would have been on diaper duty though."

"Dean!" Sam threw down his fork in disgust.

"What?" Dean grinned, winking at his brother as he stabbed another enormous forkful of food and shovelled it into his mouth.

"Anyway," Sam turned his attention back to Cas, "we don't know what's on the tablet. Not really. We can't trust anything that Metatron's told us."

Cas nodded. "I suppose it might tell us why Metatron is looking for the Watchers."

Sam nodded. "Garth says there's been at least twenty sightings of people in red and blue robes in the past twenty-four hours. He's going to call us with another update when he gets to Indianapolis."

"Twenty?" Cas shook his head. "There should be two hundred of them."

"_Two hundred?_" Dean coughed. "So we only have potential sightings for ten percent of Angel Flight Down?"

Cas frowned. "Angel Flight Down?"

Sam's eyes widened. "I _knew_ you were watching that movie on purpose!" He pointed accusingly at his brother. "_The TV's stuck on this Sammy – don't worry, Dad'll fix it when he gets back_."

"Have I missed something?" Cas looked between the two brothers.

Dean was avoiding Sam's stare. "_Two hundred_ Watchers, Cas?"

Cas nodded slowly in confirmation.

Sam, rolled his eyes at Dean again then looked at Cas. "Garth's only spoken to people this side of the Atlantic. The Watchers could have come down anywhere."

"It makes sense that they'd be dispersed," Castiel replied. "They were to be everywhere at once when they were sent to earth to watch over humanity."

"Kicked out of heaven for knocking up chicks," Dean shook his head. "Seriously, God really had other things he should have been worrying about."

"The Watchers weren't supposed to become involved with humanity, Dean," Cas replied, a definite edge to his tone. "They were trusted to maintain their distance, and they disobeyed the word of God."

Dean looked taken aback at Cas's sharpness. "So you think they should have been evicted from heaven just because they got a bit too close to humanity?" His pointed look at the ex-angel clearly yelled _HYPOCRITE! _in its silence. A bitter laugh. "Wow, seriously Cas I thought you of all people might be less of a dick about that."

Cas shuffled uncomfortably. "I did not say I didn't understand, Dean. Just that disobeying God has consequences." He pushed his half-empty plate away from him and stood. "Excuse me, I'm going to start reading through the material Garth found. I'm finding it difficult to recall everything." Without another word Cas left the room and disappeared off down the corridor.

"Why are you acting like such a dick?" Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. "Yeah, Cas has done some bad things, but so have you. So have _I. _Jesus, Dean, he was an angel forty-eight hours ago and now he's…" Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Just remember that, alright?" Sam, following Cas's lead, pushed his chair back and swept out of the room with a final glare at his brother.

Dean pursed his lips moodily. He did _not_ feel chastised. Honestly.

He stood slowly, gathering plates together. "Chef makes breakfast _and _gets to clear up. Yeah, that's fair."

"Hey!" Kevin grinned as he padded into the room, still clad in his pyjamas. "Do I smell bacon?"

"No," Dean snapped before stomping into the kitchen.

* * *

"Cas?" Sam knocked on the nondescript door. He only had to wait a few seconds before the lock clicked and he found himself face to face with Cas.

"Can I come in for a minute?" Sam asked, but Cas was already moving away from the door to allow him entry.

Sam frowned slightly as he looked around the room. Dust still clung to most visible surfaces; a reminder that the Men of Letters had long since been forgotten. The camp bed they'd originally moved here in order to accommodate Dean's memory foam masterpiece down the hall was set up in the corner; the familiar trench coat folded carefully on top of the neatly made covers. Books were arranged in various piles on the floor, but other than the coat there was nothing that marked this room out as belonging to Castiel. A wave of sadness thrummed in response to the thought that Cas must never have really felt as though he _belonged _somewhere.

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to remember more specific details about the Watchers," Cas said as he sat down on the floor amidst the book towers he'd built around himself.

"Cas, it's a miracle you remember anything at all," Sam replied with a sigh as he perched on the edge of the bad.

Cas was silent for a long moment. "Naomi was right about me. I'm _wrong_, Sam." He shrugged despondently. "They've always managed to bring me back in line when they've needed to, but now-" he trailed off, eyes flickering Heavenwards for a brief moment.

"We'll fix it, Cas," Sam replied, injecting his voice with as much conviction as he could muster.

Cas shook his head. "There isn't anything left to fix, Sam. I always believed it was God who kept…_restoring_ me. But if my Father had truly not abandoned Heaven, why has he allowed Metatron to close the Gates?"

Sam didn't have an answer for that. A crisis of faith (another one) was the last thing Cas needed when he was already struggling to adjust to the loss of his Grace.

"Do you regret following Dean into this life?" Cas asked suddenly, his eyes snapping to Sam's face for the first time since he'd sat down.

Sam frowned before shaking his head. "No," he replied almost immediately. "I regret some of – _a lot of _– the things I've done in the last few years, but the thought of Dean out there on his own fighting everything we've seen?" He shook his head. "I can't regret anything if it means that my brother's still alive, and still has a shot at a_ normal _life one day."

"You left him before," Cas replied. It was accusatory, merely a statement of irrefutable truth.

"I did," Sam agreed eventually. "But maybe I was okay with it because I knew you had his back."

Cas closed his eyes. "Sam, I've betrayed you and Dean too many times." His lashed slowly parted to reveal an intensity of pain that almost blindsided Sam. "I know that I will never have your trust the way I once did, but I will do everything within my limited power to alleviate you of the effects of the Trials."

"Cas, this isn't your fault," Sam said, because as a Winchester he could spot earth-shattering levels of guilt from a mile away.

"If I hadn't tried to work with Crowley then-"

"Then maybe this would all be over," Sam cut him off. "Or maybe the apocalypse would still be in full swing. Rule number one of being a hunter – don't ever think about how things _might_ have turned out."

Cas frowned. "Dean told me that rule number one was-" He scrunched his face up in concentration. "No Kutcher references?"

Sam laughed despite himself. "Yeah, that's been rule number one. It started out as we do what we do and we shut up about it."

"There's more than one 'rule number one'? Cas tilted his head.

"Yeah," Sam replied with a small smile, "yeah, sometimes there's more than one 'rule number one'."

Cas looked as though Sam was trying to converse in a language he had no knowledge of.

"Look," Sam said carefully, "part of being human is making mistakes, regretting those mistakes, and then doing everything you can to make it right."

Cas nodded seriously. "Then I will do everything I can to atone for my transgressions, then I will leave you and Dean to continue with y-"

"What?" Sam stood quickly. "No! Cas, you can't leave again." Dean was bad enough when Cas _was_ around; he didn't want his brother to revert to the man he'd become when he thought he'd lost Cas to Purgatory. The drinking, the brooding, and the recklessness were all inherent character traits for Dean, but they were always magnified ten fold when Cas waltzed out of their lives.

Cas frowned. "Without my…_mojo_ I fear I won't be of much use to you. I'm nothing more than-" he cut himself off to look back down at his clasped hands. "A baby in a trench coat."

And _oh my God, _Sam was going to murder his brother. A stupid comment from years ago had now rendered an ex-angel the most pitiful sight Sam had ever seen.

"Okay, Cas," Sam announced, "we need to get you out of here for a while."

"I have reading to do. Cas stared plaintively at the numerous unread books.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "but you're also wearing the same suit you've had on for years."

Cas looked at his bloodied shirtsleeve, kicked-puppy expression firmly in place. Sam wanted to kick himself for not having tried to sort Cas out earlier. At least Dean had been right about one thing – there's not a chance in hell they could have coped if they'd ended up with a baby angel, not when they clearly couldn't be trusted to look after a fully grown one in the middle of a personality crisis.

"You need some new clothes, man," Sam added. "There's a couple of thrift stores in town. I'm sure you'll find something there."

"You want me to go alone?" Cas looked horrified.

"Oh God, _no_!" Sam replied immediately. The trouble Cas could cause if left to his own devices wasn't worth thinking about. Sam grinned slowly as an idea formed. "No. Dean'll go with you."

* * *

Crowley cracked an eye open as he heard the door to his 'home' inching open. Devil's traps always gave the air a cloying quality that he'd never felt comfortable with and the sudden arrival of untainted air had him almost sighing in relief. He also felt more than a sense of reprieve when a sliver of light joined the air. The darkness he'd been kept in since Moose had been liberated from their handcuff act had felt alive with something Crowley hadn't experienced in years; it felt like true fear, concentrated down to its purest form to result in a tangible whisper of terror that skated over his skin.

"Well, well," he forced himself to choke out through a dry mouth, "if it isn't Dean Winchester, the hostess with the mostess."

Dean snorted. "So, are you going to talk today?"

"Oh, I'm always ready to talk to you," Crowley replied, his smirk turning to a wince when the flashlight beam blinded him for a moment. "Is this a social call, or do you have something specific in mind?"

Dean shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Thanks," Crowley coughed slightly. "You're not so bad yourself. Well, if you look past the manlier-than-thou attitude to see the frightened kitten underneath." He coughed again, the tickle in his throat reasserting itself.

"Aw," Dean's smirk grew. "Is the dust getting to you?"

"F-" Crowley was cut off almost immediately by a coughing fit that left him winded. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose When he opened them again it was to see Dean standing a few steps closer, a small frown on his face. "What? It's dusty in here. Clearly you've never heard of a Swiffer."

"Dust?" Dean looked disbelieving for a moment. "Seriously? The King of Hell has a dust allergy?"

Crowley opened his mouth to say something, but then frowned.

Dean frowned too. A second passing before his face lit up with a realisation. "You're not one hundred percent demon, are you?"

"What?" Crowley was aiming for scornful, but he knew he'd hit somewhere around mildly-panicked instead.

"The cure was working," Dean replied, looking annoying gleeful. Crowley wanted to punch him, but knew he'd never get close enough with the chains trapping him.

"Don't get excited Winchester," Crowley said eventually, exuding as much feigned-boredom into his voice as he could manage. "You're little blood transfusion will wear off soon enough, and when it does…" He shook his head as confidence returned. "When it _does_, you're really going to wish you'd left me at that church."

Dean's expressions darkened. "Oh, I doubt that. We've got big plans for you, Crowley."

Crowley swallowed the niggling sense of fear that had been with him since Abaddon had attacked.

"Dean?"

The distant voice had Crowley's ears perking up immediately. "Well, well, well, doth my ears deceive me? Is that Kevin Tran?" He smirked again. "You didn't tell me you had my favourite little prophet nearby." He tilted his head, considering. "Oh, boys, are you playing house with your little band of misfits? Send Cas down here when he's got a minute, will you? He'd probably let me out if I asked – I can be very persuasive."

Dean didn't hesitate before pulling the bottle of holy water out of his pocket and spraying Crowley in the face with it.

Crowley flinched, biting his tongue to keep hold of the anguished cry that wanted to tear from his throat.

"Cas won't be coming anywhere near you, you black-eyed son of a bitch," Dean snapped.

"Aw," Crowley cooed, trying to ignore the burning sensation on his skin as much as possible. "Isn't that sweet? Protecting the little guy from my big, bad King of Hell ways, are you, Dean? Or is it that you don't trust him not to switch teams again?"

Crowley was waiting for the holy water this time. That didn't make it any better.

* * *

"Dean?" Kevin called again as he stuck his head into the kitchen. Where the hell was everyone?

"Kevin?" Sam appeared looking concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Kevin replied. "Garth just called – he said Dean wasn't answering his phone. I think he's sulking somewhere, I can't find him."

Sam's eyes widened. "No, he said he was going down to Crowley this morning. Kevin when did you last see him?"

Kevin blanched at Crowley's name, "I don't know, half an hour ago?"

Sam was already hurtling out of the room before Kevin finished speaking, long legs carrying him down the corridor towards 7B.

"Dean!" Sam called. "Dean!"

Dean, looked up from where he was slouched against the door to 7B in alarm. "Sam! What's wrong? Are you okay? Is it Cas?"

Sam balled his hand into a fist and punched Dean on the arm.

"Ow! Bitch." Dean rubbed his arm furiously. "What was that for?"

"Garth's been calling you and you didn't answer," Sam hissed. "Kevin said he couldn't find you. Jesus, Dean, I thought Crowley'd…" he trailed off as he took in the expression on Dean's face. "What? I didn't hit hard enough for you to look that pissed."

"It's not _me_ you should be worried about." Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hate that dick. I don't know why we don't just exorcise the hell out of him."

"_Because_," Sam replied making sure to catch his brother's eye, "he's probably more useful to us alive. Plus if we can figure out a way to cure him without setting off whatever's inside me then we can still close off Hell."

"What did Garth want?" Dean asked eventually.

"I don't know. I came looking for you before Kevin told me," Sam replied with a shrug, before frowning. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you do to Crowley?"

Dean's jaw tightened. "Nothing, really. He just needs a bit of time to bounce back from some holy water to the face."

"Dean!"

"What?" Petulance was creeping into Dean's tone. "Don't go all Amnesty International on me now just because you were stuck in a dungeon with him for a few hours. He was pissing me off."

"What did he do?"

Dean's look darkened. "Nothing. Just don't let Cas or Kevin anywhere near him. Whatever he is, fully demon or not, he's not above playing mind games."

"Fully demon or _not_?" Sam frowned. "Dean, what exactly happened in there?"

"You ever known a demon to have a dust allergy?"

"No, why?"

"Exactly." Dean shrugged. "There's something weird going on with him. Weirder than usual, I mean."

"Maybe I should try talking to him?"

"Not a chance, Sammy," Dean shook his head. "We'll give it a few days and see if your blood's worn off before we try it again. I actually like him better when I know I'm dealing with a completely demon asshat."

Sam nodded his agreement. "Fine. Look, I'm going to call Garth back and see what he's found out about the angels. If Cas is right and there's two hundred Watchers then they should to have been noticed in other places."

"Fine." Dean pulled out his phone, which displayed three missed calls from Garth, and made to return the call.

"No," Sam patted Dean's arm. "_I'm _calling Garth. There's something else for you to do."

Dean frowned. "What?" His eyes widened. "I'm not going out to get Kevin lunch again. The little punk can eat what he's given or he can starve."

"Er, _okay_," Sam rolled his eyes. "But that wasn't what I was going to say."

"Then what?"

"Cas needs clothes, Dean," Sam replied slowly. "And things like a toothbrush, and a new phone."

"And you're telling me this because?" Dean waved a hand.

Sam stayed silent, watching as his brother's face morphed into horrified understanding.

"You want me to take Cas _shopping_?" Dean barked. "No way, man. I already had to take Charlie."

"Well I can't go," Sam replied with a shrug.

"Why not?"

Sam coughed. Looked at his brother. Coughed again, louder this time. "I'm still not feeling great."

Dean glared. "_Really_, Sam? Cos you've seemed fine to me."

"No," Sam put a hand to his forehead. "Definitely not fine."

"Fine," Dean replied. "Well if you're feeling awful then I need to stay here and make you soup, right?"

"Just take him into town," Sam threw up his hands in frustration.

"Kevin can take him!"

"You want to send _Kevin_ out with Cas?" Sam made a face. "Seriously, on what level would that ever be a good idea?"

"Garth!"

"He's in Indiana." Sam rolled his eyes again. "Stop clutching at straws!"

"No, Sam."

"Fine," Sam stepped back, raising his hands in apparent surrender. "I'll just have to call Charlie then. She really wanted to meet Cas, remember? She's knows all about him from the books." He turned and started walking away.

"Okay, fine!"

Sam turned back. Gratified to see that Dean's eyes had grown to the size of saucers, and he looked uncannily like he'd been sucking on a lemon. "Fine?" he asked, trying to contain a grin.

"Yes, fine," Dean replied, defeated. "Just don't call Charlie."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I think she'd jump at the chance."

"It's fine," Dean shouldered past his brother.

Sam grinned as he watched Dean walk away, just about catching the muttered 'douche move' before he disappeared around the corner.

* * *

Castiel had been to Hell. He had assumed that there could be no worse place on any plane of existence.

Apparently he'd been wrong.

_This_ was the worst place in existence.

"Dude," Dean rolled his eyes, "stop staring at the shirts like they're going to start snacking on your face. Just pick a few that you like, grab some pants and then we can get out of here."

"I don't…"Cas trailed of as he looked around in dismay, realising that there was more to the store than the tshirt racks that had stolen his attention upon entering.

"Hi there!"

Cas stumbled slightly as the perky voice came from behind him. He suddenly found himself face to face with a beaming blonde girl.

"Do you need some help?" the girl asked, and Cas was sure her smile didn't even move as she spoke. "You look a little…_overwhelmed_."

"No, we're good, thanks," Dean smiled at her, "just grabbing a few things and we'll be on our way."

"Blue is totally your colour," the girl continued, ignoring Dean and slipping her arm around Cas's. "We've got lots of blue over here."

Cas shot a horrified glance towards Dean as he was led away. Dean, helpfully, looked back, gaping like a fish.

"So," the girl continued, oblivious to Cas's discomfort, "what kind of things are you looking for? We just got some jeans in that I think would look awesome on you"

"Okay, thank you," Dean grabbed Cas's other arm. "We've got it from here." He tugged once, and the salesgirl let go with a frown.

"Sure," she said eventually. "Just let me know if you need anything."

"Did she just _wink_ at you?" Dean hissed.

"Yes."

Dean shook his head. "Come on."

Cas followed Dean, dropping his eyes from where the salesgirl was giggling with another young woman and pointing over at him.

"Well?" Dean looked pointedly between Cas and the clothing racks.

Cas leaned close and dropped his voice. "Dean, I'm perfectly happy with the clothes I have."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Cas, I'm enjoying this about as much as you, but seriously even _I _would have a problem with you staying in those clothes."

Cas reached over and grabbed a tshirt at random and held it up for Dean to inspect. "This one?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "_This one_?" He grabbed the shirt from Cas's hand and looked at it in disgust. "Cas, man, this a 1970 tour shirt."

"Is that bad?" Cas tilted his head.

"A 1970 tour shirt for _Jefferson Starship_," Dean added with a shake of his head.

Cas squinted before his expression morphed into understanding. "Horrible and hard to kill?"

Dean grinned. "That's right."

Cas turned his attention back to the rack and stared.

Dean watched him for a few seconds, eyebrows rising as time ticked by. "Seriously, Cas, the steely glare doesn't have any effect on inanimate objects."

Said steely glare turned on Dean.

Dena rolled his eyes. "Oh my God, I can't believe I'm going to do this." He turned away from Cas and walked between the racks grabbing a few items. "If you tell anyone, and I mean _anyone_ about this, you will know the true meaning of pain."

Cas frowned again. "Alright."

"Here." Dean dropped a collection of shirts into Cas's arms. "Grab some jeans, go try them on and I'll meet you in five."

Cas made to undo the top button on his shirt, awkwardly shuffling the clothes to one arm.

"What are you doing?" Dean hissed and grabbed the fingers fumbling with the button.

"You told me to try on the clothes," Cas replied.

Dean fought the urge to close his eyes and sigh. He shook his head quickly and pointed at the cubicle in the corner. "Go in there, shut the door, and _then_ try on the clothes. Jesus, Cas, make sure you lock the door."

Cas ducked his head sheepishly and scuttled away.

"And no montages!" Dean yelled after him. He shook his head again, rubbing his forehead as he watched Cas frown in front of the selection of jeans. He almost moved forward to help when the salesgirl from earlier made to walk towards Cas again, but Cas noticed too. The ex-angel grabbed a few pairs and hightailed it to the changing cubicle.

Dean waited until the door was locked and the salesgirl returned to her friend, before heading over to the dubiously named 'entertainment' section. He clicked through the cassette tapes and stuck out his tongue when he didn't come across anything he liked.

"Ooh," he muttered to himself when he saw a battered copy of _Cat's Cradle_ sitting in a reduction bin. He hadn't seen his own copy in years, and eventually figured it must have fallen out of his bag in some nameless motel somewhere.

He picked up the book with a grin.

The grin was already gone by the time the book hit the floor.

"What the fuck?" Dean breathed as he stepped over the paperback to peer into the bin. He reached down and picked up the book that had caught his eye; the cover showed a stylised drawing of a man in a tan trench coat; shadowy black wings protruded out either side of the coat.

_Supernatural by Carver Edlund _the text at the top of the book screamed at Dean.

Dean's eyes bugged as he looked at the title - _The Third Man_ – and flipped the book over to read the blurb.

_The Winchesters turn to Castiel for help when Biblical plagues cause the deaths of several police officers. Meanwhile an item from Heaven seems to have made its way to earth in the hands of a renegade angel; an angel who blames Castiel for the Civil War Heaven is now facing. Can Team Free Will locate the angel in time, and will Dean discover the reason for Sam's strange behaviour?_

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, gripping the book tightly in his hand.

"Is there a problem, Sir?" the blonde salesgirl appeared at his side and looked at the book. "Oh yeah, that's been sitting in there for a couple of months. Have you read the other ones?"

"Sort of," Dean replied, his eyes glued to the back cover.

The girl laughed. "Yeah, I couldn't sit through a whole one. It was all just too unbelievable. I was a bit surprised when this one turned up – Amy over there loved them – she said she didn't know they'd started publishing them again."

Dean didn't reply, just clutched the book to his chest and stormed over to the cubicle. He pounded on the door with his fist. "Cas, get your ass out here. We've got a problem."

* * *

"Yeah, thanks Garth," Sam scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "Call us if you hear anything else."

"Anything?" Kevin asked from where he was hunched over the Angel tablet, squinting at the markings from different angles. Sam had been providing him with caffeinated drinks all morning, but was putting a strict time limit on how long Kevin could work on the translation without taking a break; nobody wanted a repeat of last time.

Sam shook his head, a frustrated puff of air escaping his lips. "Sightings of men and women in robes on every continent, but not a single one of them can be traced. It's like they've just disappeared."

Kevin nodded silently and looked down at the tablet. He stared without focusing for a minute or so before lifting his head back up to face Sam. "Do you think Crowley knows I'm here?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"

Kevin shrugged. "I don't know. It was bad enough when I didn't know where he was, but now…" He shrugged again. "But now, I guess even though I know you've got him secure down there, he's closer than ever. My mom-" Kevin scrubbed at his eyes quickly.

Sam's lips quirked in sympathy. "Hey, I know, but I promise Crowley will get what's coming to him. Even if he knows you're here he can't get out. You don't need to worry about Crowley him." Sam always felt terrible when he remembered that Kevin hadn't chosen any of this; he'd just had his life ripped away from him without realising what was happening to him at the time. Sam could sympathise with that.

The clanking of the door mechanism startled them both.

Sam frowned. "That was quick." He stood in surprise when he saw the thunderous look on his brother's face. Cas lolloped in after him, wearing a pair of jeans he was holding up at the waist. The trench coat was still in place.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean announced and Sam immediately looked to Cas. Dean rolled his eyes when he noticed. "Not _him_."

"I don't-" Sam waved his arm between Dean and Cas. "Then what?"

Dean thrust a paperback into Sam's hands and looked at it pointedly.

"Son of a _bitch_!" Sam agreed as he flipped the book over, going through the same motions (and facial expressions) as Dean had in the thrift store. He opened the cover and scanned the page. "This was published _this year_." He looked at his brother again. "I thought Chuck was dead. Cas you said he was dead."

Cas shook his head. "I said I didn't know what happened to him, that he _must_ be dead. There's no other explanation for how Kevin became the prophet."

"Then who's publishing the books?" Sam asked.

"No idea," Dean replied. "Chick at the thrift store said the series website appeared online again about three months ago; the same time this copy showed up in the reduction bin at the store."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "_You_ were looking through books?"

Dean straightened his shoulders and looked offended. "I do read, Sam."

Sam snorted. "Busty Asian Beauties isn't exactly highbrow literature."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, laugh it up college boy, but I found this under a copy of _Cat's Cradle_, is that highbrow enough for you?"

Sam's brow immediately creased into a frown. "You found this under Vonnegut?" He looked back down at the book. "You found a book by Carver Edlund underneath a copy of Vonnegut?"

"Yeah," Dean said slowly.

"Chuck isn't dead!" Sam announced, dropping the book on the table. "At least he wasn't dead when we thought he was. This happened way after we last saw him."

"I haven't looked through any of it yet," Dean replied, "we don't know if this is Chuck, or someone else."

"_Vonnegut_, Dean." Sam threw up his hands at Dean's blank look. "Come on, remember? Back when we first met Chuck, he told us it the next part he'd written was a bit Vonnegut. Dean, I think Chuck _wanted _you to find that book."

Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Chuck wanted me to find a book in a thrift store months after it turned up there? Why didn't he just send it? Or you know, pick up a phone and say 'hey, I'm not actually dead'?"

"Whoa." Kevin snorted as he pulled the book towards him and studied the back. "There's books about you guys?" He drew his laptop closer and tapped on the keyboard, looking between the book and the screen. "Hey, look, here's the website the girl must have been talking about."

Dean and Sam crowded round the screen, and Cas dropped into a chair opposite Kevin and took his turn to look at the book.

Kevin pointed at a paragraph of text on the left hand side of the webpage as he read aloud. "The boys are back in town. Smallcastle Publishing is pleased to announce the return of the Winchester Brothers in six new books by Carver Edlund."

"Six?" Dean coughed. "_Six?_"

"Can Team Free Will prevent the apocalypse, or will their betrayals of each other force them apart?" Kevin continued. He scrolled down slightly. "It says here that six books were published in March: _Lucifer Rising, The End, Swan Song, The Third Man, The Born Again Identity, _and _Time after Time. _Apparently extracts from the first three might have leaked online a couple of years ago, but the full versions are only available now." Kevin suddenly grinned gleefully. "Guys, do you think I'm in the books?"

Dean slapped Kevin on the back of the head. "See if you can track down copies of the rest of the series. Sam, start reading _that_." He pointed to the book, annoyance fading on his face when he saw Cas staring despondently at the cover, trailing his fingers of the outline of wings.

Dean glanced at his brother quickly before adding, "Actually, Cas, why don't you read through the book, see if you can find anything useful? Anything that might give us a clue as to why Chuck started writing again, and maybe even where the hell he is now."

Cas looked up. "I can do that."

Dean quirked his lips slightly. "Good. Sam, did you get hold of Garth?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, "sightings everywhere, but not a single Watcher to be found after the initial reports."

"Alright," Dean shrugged out of his jacket. "Call him back, see if he, or anyone he knows, can track down Chuck Shurley."

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked.

"I'm going to read through some of the old books," Dean replied. "Charlie said they were all online, right?"

"Got them!" Kevin announced.

Dean stepped back in surprise. "What? What do you mean you've _got them_?"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "They have these things called e-books, Dean. You can download pretty much any book you want."

Dean blinked silently in response.

"It means the books are now on my computer," Kevin replied slowly, as if talking to a confused child.

"Give me that!" Dean yanked the computer out of Kevin's grasp. "Come on, Cas, let's go get our reading on."

Cas dutifully got to his feet, one hand clutching the book, the other still holding onto his jeans.

Dean frowned. "And find you a belt."

"What am I supposed to do?" Kevin piped up.

Dean shrugged. "I think you've got a few more hours of translating left in you for the day."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Great, so I'm back to the tablet."

"That's right, kid," Dean grinned at him before herding Cas out of the room.

"Your brother's a dick," Kevin grumbled to Sam as he picked up his pencil again.

Sam watched as Dean studied Cas carefully when they were walking. Sam had lost track of how many different versions of 'Cas' they'd encountered so far, but Dean had, no matter how pissed he'd been with Cas, always fallen into his default role of protector (even if Dean would never admit to it) and he looked like he was about to do the same again. "Not all the time, Kevin."

* * *

Dean had a headache. The kind that always comes from thinking too much about something, and driving yourself slowly insane through the circular nature of your thoughts. The 'something' in this scenario being the way Cas had shown up in his life again with a whole new set of problems for Dean to work through. For such a headache the thoughts stuck on a constant loop weren't actually that complex:

_Cas didn't trust him (again) – Cas came to him for help (again) – Cas disappeared (again) – Cas had fallen (okay, so that one was new)_

He was crap when it came to feelings – that's why he left those to Sam and tried to battle through everything thrown at him with a steely attitude and a comprehensive knowledge of weaponry. But he also knew that it was _feelings _–and _eurgh_ he hated even thinking of the word – that caused his downfall every single fucking time. And now Cas was here, contrite in a way Dean hadn't seen from him in a long time, and completely at the mercy of a world he'd never really understood, and Dean didn't know how to _feel_ about it.

Cas' crestfallen expression when he'd seen the illustration on the book jacket had spurred Dean into action; the instinct to protect his own kicking in whether he wanted it to or not. Cas, no doubt, had his reasons for not trusting him, and despite the sharp crack of betrayal he felt at the thought, Dean knew with a cloying sense of certainty that he couldn't afford to lose someone he cared about again. Getting Cas away from the others, somewhere he could process his thoughts had seemed like the best idea; and Dean hadn't even considered leaving the ex-angel alone, not when a brief conversation from a motel in Oklahoma City still haunted him.

_Because if I see what Heaven's become. What I – What I made of it – I'm afraid I might kill myself. _

The look that Cas had given him after that statement had twisted a knife in Dean's chest. Through all of the anger, all of the betrayal with Crowley, everything in Purgatory, Dean had never seen Cas look as lost as he had in that moment. When Sam had come into the room half of Dean had wanted to punch his brother in the neck for cutting short a conversation that Dean and Cas had needed for a long time, and the other half had collapsed in silent relief at finding the extraction point from dangerously emotional territory.

It didn't help that while he'd been slouched on his bed for the last hour, Cas had been propped up one elbow at the desk reading _The Third Man_ with a stare so intense Dean was worried the paper might ignite, and occasionally making these little huffing sounds that drew his expression to one of horror. Dean hadn't asked what Cas had read – he wasn't sure he wanted to know just yet. Dean had been reading _Lucifer Rising_ with a rising sense of acceptance that Chuck was alive, somewhere. It couldn't be anybody else.

"Dean." Cas's quiet call had Dean snapping out of his thoughts immediately.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I'm going to get a drink of water, would you like one?"

Cas's expression was earnestly hopeful, but that awful sadness from Oklahoma had returned to his eyes.

Dean didn't want a glass of water. "Yeah, sure Cas, that'd be great."

"I might also visit the bathroom." Cas stood.

Dean frowned. "That's fine, man. Wait…" he swallowed loudly. "You don't need help with that do you? Because really I-"

Cas's small chuckle felt like a victory. "No, Dean. I have, as you would say, got that covered. I've been entirely human for over forty-eight hours now, after all." And there went the victory descending into a fiery pit of trauma and angst.

Dean smiled weakly as Cas passed him to leave the room. He looked over at the photograph of his mother when the door closed. "Any ideas, Mom?"

Mary Winchester remained steadfastly silent and Dean sighed again. He moved the laptop off his knees and got to his feet, stretching enough that he felt his shoulders pop slightly. He padded over to the desk with a yawn and flipped open the book Cas had been reading. He thumbed through the pages, frowning and backtracking when he noticed that an outsider wasn't narrating this book, making it stand out from the others.

He turned back to the first page, his mouth dropping into a small 'oh' as he read the opening paragraphs.

**_You know, I've been here for a very long time. And I remember many things. ( I remember being at a shoreline, watching a little grey fish heave itself up on the beach and an older brother saying, "don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish." I remember the Tower of Babel – All thirty-seven feet of it, which I suppose was impressive at the time. And when it fell, they howled 'divine wrath'. But come on, dried dung can only be stacked so high. _**

**_I remember Cain and Abel...David and Goliath...Sodom and Gomorrah. And, of course, I remember the most remarkable event - remarkable because it never came to pass. It was averted by two boys, an old drunk and a fallen angel. The grand story. And we ripped up the ending and the rules...And destiny...leaving nothing but freedom and choice. Which is all well and good, except... Well, what if I've made the wrong choice? How am I supposed to know? _**

**_I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything._**

Dean's heart was actually thudding in his chest as he finished reading. He flicked through to a random page and braced himself for what he might find.

**_So I went to an old friend for help. I left immediately and travelled to Cicero, where I knew Dean had remained with Lisa Braeden and her son, Ben. Sam had once tried to explain what he meant by 'Apple Pie Life', but I suppose I didn't understand it until this moment; this moment when I saw Dean raking leaves in the back garden of a house that had become his home. The house exuded warmth and I felt the tangible presence of contentment coming from within. I let myself become enveloped in that feeling for a long time, trying to ignore the clawing need to shatter this moment and ask Dean for the help I so desperately needed._**

**_But watching him, I stopped. Everything he sacrificed, and I was about to ask him for more._**

Dean sank onto the bed, his eyes never leaving the pages as he flicked through again - - stopping closer to the end this time. He saw the word 'Kryptonite' and swallowed heavily before reading on.

**_And the worst part was Dean, trying so hard to be loyal, with every instinct telling him otherwise._**

"Jesus, Cas," Dean shook his head as he turned to the final page. "You fucking idiot. I would have helped you."

**_I had to tell him the truth, even if I knew he'd never believe me. "I'm doing this for you Dean. I'm doing this _****because ****_of you."_**

**_He turned away from me instantly. "Because of me. Yeah. You got to be kidding me."_**

**_I had to make him understand, or try my best to, at least. "You're the one who taught me that freedom and free will-"_**

**_Dean turned to cut me off, and even in the darkness of the room I could see the hurt on his face, clear as day beneath the layers of anger. "You're a freakin' child, you know that? Just because you can do what you want doesn't mean that you get to do whatever you want!"_**

**_"I _****know****_ what I'm doing, Dean." I knew exactly what I was doing, and I knew exactly why I shouldn't. _**

**_Dean looked at me for a long moment before he replied. "I'm not gonna logic you, okay? I'm saying don't. Just 'cause. I'm asking you not to. That's it." _**

**_Was this Dean giving me another chance? "I don't understand."_**

**_"Look, next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family - that you are like a brother to me. So, if I'm asking you not to do something - You gotta trust me, man."_**

**_Dean knew how important he was to me; what I had risked without thought if it meant saving his life. I had never really considered my own importance to him. But now, as he stood before me claiming me as family – a word I knew Dean would never use lightly – I knew what I had to do. I knew that I had to push him away in order to save him, to save it all. I could never allow myself to be important to Dean Winchester. I didn't deserve it._**

**_So instead I asked the question I knew would have Dean becoming the hunter that he was once more. "Or what?"_**

**_The change in Dean's stance was immediate. "Or I'll have to do what I have to do to stop you."_**

**_I didn't want to push him away any further, but I knew that I must. "You can't, Dean. You're just a man. I'm an angel."_**

**_"I don't know. I've taken some pretty big fish."_**

**_As an angel I wasn't supposed to want, and I wasn't supposed to feel. But as I stood there, knowing that I must leave I wanted nothing more than to stay. "I'm sorry, Dean."_**

**_I left before Dean had finished replying, wondering if he felt as bereft as I did. I was truly alone for the first time in my existence – and I had nobody to blame but myself. _**

**_So, that's everything. I believe it's what you would call a tragedy from the human perspective. But maybe the human perspective is limited. I don't know. That's why I'm asking you. One last time. Am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path? You have to tell me. You have to give me a sign. Give me a sign. Because if you don't I'm going do whatever I..._**

**_Whatever I must._**

Dean closed the book, suddenly feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. He clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees as he dropped his head forward.

Cas had needed saving, and Dean hadn't seen it. Hadn't seen anything past the fact his _friend _looked like he was selling him out to Crowley, and for what, for power? For months, hell for _years_, Dean had wondered if he'd done enough, _been enough _for Cas during that time – he'd eventually convinced himself that Cas had made his decisions for all the wrong reasons.

"Fuck," Dean hissed, clamping his eyes shut.

The door opened and he stood immediately, throwing the book in an attempt to get it back onto the desk. He looked up just in time to see Cas watching the book flying straight past the desk and landing on the floor.

Cas made a barely audible noise, his hands clutching the tumblers of water tightly.

"Cas-" Dean started to speak, and Christ his voice sounded broken. "You should have spoken to me. I would have listened." Dean knew how accusatory he sounded, but he didn't know if what he was saying was a hundred percent true: would he have listened? _Really_ listened?

"Dean, it's just a book," Cas replied quietly, slinking past Dean and putting the glasses on the desk. He turned around and Dean found himself with a whole lot of ex-angel in his personal space.

"Cas, did you come to me in Cicero?" Dean asked slowly, keeping his voice as level as he could.

"I-" Cas shifted awkwardly.

Dean closed his eyes briefly. "Cas, please, _please_ don't lie to me. Did you come to Cicero to ask for my help?"

Cas swallowed loudly, but he held Dean's gaze. "Yes," he replied eventually, the confirmation sounded as though pulled from his soul. The anguish in Cas's eyes increased tenfold. "Dean, I couldn't ask you. I couldn't ask you to leave Lisa and Ben when you finally had what you wanted."

Dean frowned. "Cas, that wasn't what I wanted. Sam made me promise to _try_ and have a normal life. Do you know why it failed?"

Cas silently shook his head.

"Because it wasn't what I wanted," Dean shrugged. "Not really."

"My mistakes are my own," Cas replied, "and I don't blame you for anything that happened. Everything I did, I did for you."

Dean was rooted to the spot as Cas somehow managed to turn the intensity of his stare by several hundred notches. "Come on, Cas," he tried to laugh, "you can't say things like that to a guy."

Cas tilted his head, his eyes flickering over Dean's face as if trying to compute Dean's words into something he understood. "Why not?"

"Because-" Dean swallowed, feeling he was crossing into dangerous territory again.

"Hey, guys?" Sam opened the door.

Dean and Cas turned away from each other at the same time to find Sam staring at them questioningly, a small frown on his forehead.

"Yeah?" Dean stepped back, trying not to move too quickly and feeling awfully like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't

"Er…"Sam looked between them. "Am I interrupting something?"

Dean glanced at Cas, who seemed to be suddenly very interested in his shoes. "No," he said. "We were just discussing the books."

"Right," Sam replied slowly, arching an eyebrow at his brother. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that Garth's going to head over to the publishers and see if he can track down Chuck."

"Great," Dean replied, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Maybe w-"He was cut off by the blaring of the alarm system. He spun around wildly as if looking for the source of the alarm in his room. "What the fuck is that?"

"It's the alarm," Cas replied.

Dean, not even bothering to roll his eyes, pushed past his brother and hurried to the map room. When he got there Kevin was standing over the map staring at a circle of red lights that appeared in a sort-of ring around South Dakota.

"What now?" Dean yelled, running his hands through his hair.

Kevin only shrugged in response, returning his fingers to his ears as he did.

* * *

In the dungeon Crowley shivered. Just before the alarms had gone off he'd felt a disturbance in the air around him.

He frowned, trying to concentrate on the slight tickle of electricity zinging around the edge of the room.

A small smile began to grown on his face. "Oh, so that's what you're up to," he muttered to the empty room. "Well played, old man. Well played."


End file.
